


The War Nurse

by thomasthomas



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Greece, M/M, Rating might go up, War, and the roman empire still exists, because i'm taking some creative liberties here, haven't decided yet, in a world where no one has to shave their heads in the military because i dont want them to, the story in which achilles is a Greek soldier and Patroclus is a war nurse, violence later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 19:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18184874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thomasthomas/pseuds/thomasthomas
Summary: Patroclus knows being a combat medic is not as glamorous as it sounds. It can be bloody, it can be dangerous, it can be downright disturbing. Despite this, he loves his job. Conflicts here, uprisings there. The feuds between Rome and Greece are something of the ordinary.All seems to go awry for Patroclus, however, when he's faced with something not even he has experienced: war.Between the relentless fighting and the beautiful injured soldier that appears in his tent one day, Patroclus finds himself treading uncertain waters wherever he goes.Fighting with himself on two fronts, Patroclus is forced to find a balance between the two most unstable things in life; love and war.





	The War Nurse

Over the course of his career, Patroclus learned that there is nothing _romantic_ about helping people.

He knows the statement sounds just wrong, but after spending excessive amounts of time working in sick tents and nurses’ quarters and stuffy foreign hospitals, he feels it’s justified. Stressful? Yeah. Demanding? Absolutely. Eye-opening? Sure, why not. But _romantic?_ No.

As a male citizen in Greece, Patroclus was faced with a duty since the day he was born; to serve in the military. Although the conscription was to last a minimum of nine months, after his due was paid, he just didn’t want to leave. Though some would be eager to continue their independent lives after their mandatory nine months, Patroclus found an unlikely home in the constant instability of being a combat medic.

At first, he delayed his service for as long as he could; after graduating from secondary school, he enrolled in university and studied medicine and nursing. However, he could only avoid it for so long: about two years, to be exact. Luckily, he struck a good deal; he enlisted in a program through his university that allowed him to fulfill his duty while earning university credits.

Through his allotted nine months of service, operating in minor military conflicts and instructing ROTC programs at secondary schools, Patroclus was able to complete his university studies in a total three years. Though he could leave the army at any time, he figures… what else would he do? This service would only make his future resume more impressive and anyway, he enjoys his work.

In truth, the required conscription was not so bad. While Patroclus was legally obligated to serve, the government provided him with various goods, and since he was released of his required service, he’s now provided with even more. Food, housing, free public transportation, and even health insurance are all provided. Along with this, he receives a modest but sufficient monthly stipend. His hard and persistent work earned him a respectable status among his peers.

After a total five years of service, Patroclus came to experience many things; at the age of 23, he’s already been to more countries and saved more lives than he can count. It’s been a somewhat stressful life thus far, but it’s been okay.

Either way, all of this brings Patroclus to his point: there is nothing _romantic_ about helping people. In reality, it’s hard. It’s often bloody, sometimes infuriating, and occasionally disturbing. So, maybe not _romantic_ , but… it is good. It is right. And that is enough for Patroclus.

“And so,” Patroclus says, sitting on his couch. At the base near Vari, where Patroclus has been stationed for a good while, he has his own apartment. A few of his good friends surround him, lazily listening to his story. The soft sound of the old television plays in the background, providing background noise. “Had it not been for the army, I would probably still be in school right now. Terrifying, I know.”

His friends snort. “I have to say, I am jealous,” says Damianos, sitting on the floor. “My school didn’t have an option like that, so I had to complete a full study _and_ enroll in the military– because of this stupid draft.”

“Shh,” Andreas says, sitting next to Patroclus on the couch and chuckling, phone in hand. “Not so loud. They will catch you.”

At that, Damianos scoffs. “And do what? Discharge me? Thank god for that. I cannot see why you stay here, Patroclus.”

“I like what I do,” is Patroclus’ answer. He does not expect them to understand, he thinks to himself. Their jobs are much different: combat specialists and air defense crewmembers and infantrymen alike, they don’t receive the same pleasure from their duties that Patroclus does. He supposes Damianos only says what he does because he’s somewhat new to the program; only four months into his service. “And, technically you are my inferior, so watch it.” This earns him a chuckle from Esra, who was silently listening to the conversation, and Andreas.

“Well,” Esra says. “It is getting late… I am leaving.”

The other men nodded their agreements. Patroclus watches as they all stand up, and filter out through his door. From the outside hallway, a beam of light shines and hits him directly in the eyes. He squints.

“I will see you tomorrow,” Patroclus says, and the door shuts, protecting him from the light. He looks around. Empty water bottles and food wrappers surround him, and he rolls his eyes. He does like his friends, but they can, at times, be much to handle. Either way, it’s often not that big a deal. Patroclus has become accustomed to cleaning up messes– in many senses.

No, not bad at all, the military life. Patroclus has his friends, and the job that he likes, and the free health insurance, but, as with everything, there are some disadvantages. For one, Patroclus hasn’t seen his family in years– not that that’s much of a setback, as he’s had qualms with his father since the beginning. Second of all, he gave up a great degree of freedom in order to help his comrades; it’s required that he live in the military-provided housing and come to assist the troops wherever and whenever he is called upon.

Third of all, Patroclus doesn’t think he’s kissed anyone in two years.

At the beginning of his service, it wasn’t so bad. He was more naïve, willing to give in to brief flings and short-lived romances. Even so, liking men in the military can be a complicated ordeal. As the weeks and months and years eventually went on, however, he was less preoccupied with finding a partner, and more preoccupied with not letting his current patient die or which mission he’d be assisting soon. As a result of the ever stressful days, he often retires early to bed, leaving his friends to drink and go out without him. He still likes to go out and enjoy the marketplace and the beach during the day when his presence isn’t required, but… for romance, there is little room in his life.

It’s fine, though. He’s not lonely, he thinks.

Nope.

And so, Patroclus sits back on his couch after cleaning his living room and himself, his eyes drifting shut as the history documentary playing on the television drones in the background.

 _Tomorrow will be busy_ , he thinks to himself, addressing the day before he falls asleep. Earlier that day, his commanding officer mentioned to him a mission tomorrow, concerning an uprising on one of the nearby disputed island territories. Something about civilians turning violent. _I should sleep in my bed._

He doesn’t get up. In the dim light of the television, Patroclus can barely make out the generic furnishings of his apartment; the doorway that leads into his small bedroom with the twin-sized bed and the dark blue comforter, the one-person table with the wooden chair, the digital clock on his microwave which shines _11:52. It is late,_ he realizes.

So he watches the documentary, which he now realizes is on the Renaissance, wraps a blanket around himself, and waits on the impending stress of the next day.

_“_ _The Renaissance movement soon spread to the cities of Venice, Milan, and Rome…”_

“Hm,” Patroclus hums sleepily to himself, listening to the documentary, his eyes already sliding shut. He’s been to Rome his fair share of times. Rivals since the early ages, conflicts between Greece and the Roman peninsula have become all too common again. Disputed territory and old grudges. The Greeks have a couple small bases stationed there, much to the Romans’ dislike.

Soon, he falls asleep. The tales of the Medicis and the Sistine Chapel and Martin Luther drone on.

 

The base Patroclus lives on in the southern Attic peninsula is a fairly pleasant place. Though restrictions are imposed on who can leave and enter the base, life beyond it is indeed bustling. The city of Vari is a somewhat small, but well-accommodated city. From the base, it’s only about a mile away from downtown, perfect for a bike ride or a walk or a run, if you’re into that. Small huts and big houses alike dot the beach and the streets, and there’s no shortage of little shops. Patroclus actually quite likes the place.

He wants nothing but to complete his daily drills and enjoy the warm June day, but instead he boards a ship headed towards the small isle of Seraphim, population about 2,000, clad in his heavy army fatigues. Yes, even as a nurse, he has to wear the tell-all camouflage of a soldier. His peers, members of his troop, surround him. From across the deck, he sees Damianos and Esra board.

“Why did _I_ have to come on this dispatch?” groans Damianos, who clearly has not gotten enough sleep. Though, Patroclus can relate; it’s not always easy getting up at 6:00 a.m. every morning. Around them, busy crew members and fellow soldiers organized and prepared for their departure.

“You’re in training. Deal with it.”

The trip to the island takes a couple hours at most. Most of the time is spent receiving orders from superior officers and preparing medical equipment, something Patroclus has grown quite used to along the days.

Before they even reach the shore, Patroclus can already see the conflict. Along the streets and surrounding buildings are the Greek army forces, but a crowd of civilians surround the port. Beyond them, Roman forces gather.

The island of Seraphim, being a disputed territory and somewhat isolated village, occasionally has uprisings and riots and standoffs alike. The land was argued over for several hundred years before, the Romans once owning it a thousand years ago, but the Greeks eventually conquering it. Sometimes, the Romans start the conflict. Sometimes, the Greeks start the conflict. This will not be the first time Patroclus is stationed on the island. The fighting is never pretty, but at least they have a camp already established on the shore.

A couple minutes later, Patroclus hears the first shot fired.

He quickly shrugs his kit over his shoulder and is suddenly caught up in the booming chaos of the carrier. Sergeants and commanders are calling out orders, privates and corporals struggling and scrambling to fulfill them.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Damianos says to Patroclus, rearing up on him as the ship docks. Patroclus can see the scene much more clearly now. A crowd of Seraphim locals crowd the streets, interfering with the standoff between the Greek and Roman forces. In the midst of all the chaos, the citizens and soldiers of both sides start to all collide with each other. From across the street, Patroclus can see an middle-aged civilian attempting to wrestle a rifle out of a Roman soldier’s grasp. He winces as more gunshots sound through the air, followed by various pitches and cries of terror.

His unit rushes as swiftly as they can to one of the medical tents in the on-shore camp. It’s tough, the morning sun already heating up the terrain, and Patroclus’ heavy uniform not the most ideal garment for summer, but he pushes on. He knows a hard day of work lies ahead of him.

Barely after Patroclus sets down his heavy medical kit, a wounded civilian is carried into the tent. He’s dumped gently in front of Patroclus by a fellow soldier, who says, “Gunshot wound to the arm,” and returns outside.

“It’s not safe for citizens to be out there,” Patroclus says to the man, who looks to be around 40 years old. As reported, his left arm oozes with blood, but Patroclus is glad to see the wound doesn’t extend too deep. He recognizes him now as the man trying to take the gun from the Roman soldier’s arms. “Much less to come into direct contact with a soldier.”

The man grunts. “Someone needs to intervene with the Romans.” He winces as Patroclus proads gently at his arm wound, examining it.

“Yes, so leave that to us,” Patroclus replies. “The wound is not too bad, but the bullet is too deep for me to remove it.” Patroclus disinfects the man’s arm and wraps it with gauze, doing all that he can in the quaint tent. “Those Roman soldiers… they are relentless. They will hurt anyone, even a civilian. We’re going to send you to the hospital.” He motions for one of the other nurses in the tent, a woman he is unfamiliar with, to transport the wounded man to the hospital. It is odd, Patroclus thinks, that he has never seen her around. Normally he’d be familiar with all members of his troop, being a specialist.

“Please,” he says. The woman, with pale skin and curly dark hair, looks around. When she realizes she is, in fact, being addressed, she nods and gathers the wounded man. Within a couple minutes, they are both departed.

And so it begins. For several hours, Greek soldiers and citizens alike are brought into the medical tent, a broken bone here, a puncture wound there. Patroclus can only tell the time by how much light is being let into the tent each time it’s opened to present another body. As the day goes on, he hears the gunshots subside, although he can still hear the shouting of voices and the wails of the people.

Patroclus has no grasp of what time it is when his commanding officer enters the medical tent, but he can tell it’s pretty dang late.

“At ease,” his officer says, when all the medics shoot upright. No one is tending to any wounded person anymore; their last patient came in about an hour ago. “The uprising has been contained, for the most part. The Roman soldiers have chosen to return back to the mainland. It’s late now, but we’re set to sail back to Vari at dawn. You will be woken up at 5:00 sharp.” His eyes search the room, until they finally land on Patroclus. “Menoitiades. With me.”

Patroclus feels all eyes in the room drift to him. He follows his officer outside, confused.

“Sir?” Patroclus says, when they’re outside the tent. The stars are out, and it’s nearly dead quiet, save for the ocean waves and the sea bugs. Humidity seeps through Patroclus’ uniform. The citizens have all evacuated, he notices, most of the Greek soldiers sleeping, except for the ones standing guard.

“I received a call,” he begins. “I have yet to tell many people about this, but as one of our best specialists, I’m counting on you to relay this to your troop.”

A pause.

“Of course, sir,” Patroclus responds. His palms start to sweat; what’s so important that his direct superior has to pull him aside?

“It concerns Rome.” Of course. “The mainland. As you know, we have troops out there already, keeping the peace, but conflicts have started breaking out more and more.” Another pause. “You are being restationed.”

 _Oh._ “Yes, sir.”

“You and your crew will pack up your things tomorrow. You will be sent to a base in the east, on the coast of the city. You’re to be there for three months. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed.” His officer nods at the tent.

And so Patroclus goes into the tent, and tells his troop of their impending relocation.

Just as his officer promised, Patroclus was woken up at 5:00 sharp the next morning. He wipes the sleep out of his eyes and gets up, carefully avoiding anyone who might still be lying down. Already, soldiers are starting to board the ship at the port.

Again, the trip back to Vari takes about two hours. On the ship, Patroclus thinks only about his relocation. This, of course, will not be the first time in his five years of service that he is relocated, but it still can be a shock. He hasn’t left the base at Vari for about a year, being sent predominantly on missions like this one. Though he was only recently promoted to specialist, he’s sure he’s quickly on his way to becoming a corporal. Maybe this is his ticket?

There’s a long series of unloading and drilling before Patroclus finally goes back to his apartment. He starts to pack.

 

Patroclus knows a few things about Rome.

He knows that for 2,000 years, the Romans and Greeks have been perpetually fighting. He knows that it takes two hours to get from Athens to Rome by plane AND by helicopter. He knows that even now, Greece has around 500 troops stationed in and around the empire’s capital.

He knows, of course, what he heard from that documentary the other night..

The next day, Patroclus stands in the doorway of his apartment, raided of its clothes and toiletries.

“See you in three months,” he says to the empty room. He flips off the lights, shuts the door.

Soon he’s standing at attention at the airport at the base, listening stoically to his superior officers. It’s not long before they’re boarded and in the air, and Patroclus is watching the lapping waves and colorful houses of Greece disappear beneath the low clouds. He checks his watch. _6:32._

The plane is cold. Not even his insulated army fatigues can protect him from the freezing temperatures that seep through the titanium walls of the aircraft. Around him, the subdued chatter of his troop. The broad hum of the plane. Normally, he would have Damianos and Esra to speak to, but they were transferred to a different Roman base at the last minute due to a shortage of men. He continues to look out the window, feeling slightly lonely, and doesn’t realize he’s being spoken to until he hears his name.

“–Menoitiades, is it…?” a female voice sounds around him.

“Hm?” he says, turning around to face the open plane chamber. He looks down at the name embroidered into his uniform– _P. Menoitiades_ – and looks back up. Across from him, a pale, curly-haired woman speaks. Patroclus immediately recognizes her as the unfamiliar woman from the tent at Seraphim. He glances down briefly at her own name tag: _K. Periedes_ , it says. “Oh. Yes?”

“You have been to Rome, yes?”

“Yes,” Patroclus nods his head at the woman, curious as to where exactly the conversation is going. “And you…?”

She wrings her hands in her lap, shaking her head. “I have not. I actually have yet to be out of Greece. They think I am ready for this mission, but…”

 _She is nervous_ , Patroclus thinks. “You are new?” he asks, although he already knows the answer.

“Yes. I enlisted just a couple months ago, I’ve just recently completed my initial training.” She pauses. “Sorry, I am just trying to acquaint myself with everyone, I saw you working in the tent in Seraphim and as it goes we are in the same troop and apparently you are my superior–”

“No worries,” Patroclus cuts her off, reassuring her, and saving her from her pointless banter. “I saw you as well– I was wondering why I had never seen you before. Welcome to the troop. You have a friend here.” Patroclus offers her a small smile and a nod.

At that, the woman– quite pretty, Patroclus notes– beams a bright smile back. “Of course. Kallinia Periedes.”

“Patroclus Menoitiades,” Patroclus responds, and shakes her hand.

Over the course of the plane ride, Patroclus learns that that Kallinia Periedes comes from northern Greece, close to the border with Macedonia. She is 22 years old, and chose to enlist in the military after completing her medical studies at university.

“I wanted… to do a service for the people of Greece,” she says, when they are about halfway to Rome. “I want to help. My family discouraged me from joining, they said it was too dangerous, but… I could not be stopped.”

Patroclus nods. “That, I can understand.” Though his father was more than happy to see him leave, Patroclus appreciates Kallinia’s will to be in the military rather than joining because of legal obligation, like many of the men.

He tells Kallinia about his university, and about his time in the military.

“Five years?” Kallinia says at one point. “You really are my superior.”

In return, Kallinia tells Patroclus tales of growing up near Macedonia, a place to which Patroclus has actually never been. Around them, their peers pay no mind to their conversation, engrossed in their own topics, and soon Kallinia has Patroclus laughing with stories of her hometown.

“$10,000,” Patroclus says, his laughter firing up again. “For a cow?”

“You would not believe it!” Kallinia replies, still laughing. “She was missing for days, weeks, I think. I heard that when she was finally found, the owner kissed her. On her cow lips.”

“Gross,” Patroclus replies with a final humorous sigh, and the two fall into a comfortable silence.

It’s not long until they arrive in Rome. At the eastern base, everything is the same as it was when Patroclus was last there, about a year ago. It is still roughly the same size, if not a bit smaller, than the base at Vari. The military buildings all look the same; he would not think he had left Vari if not for the complete absence of a beach and the somehow busier streets.

 _So, nothing has changed,_ he thinks. Dozens of soldiers peruse the base and the streets as Patroclus walks out of the airport, Kallinia and the rest of his troop billowing out around him.

Grey clouds hang low in the skies; it feels like it might rain. However, even in the gloomy light, the beauty of the city still shines through. Even though they are enemies, Patroclus must admit the Romans have always had an eye for art– though, he must add, it is clearly and distinctly modeled after Greece’s own archaic architecture. The old saying is as goes, however: imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Marble buildings and colorful apartment complexes and flowing roads can all be found throughout the city.

“Wow, it’s…” Kallinia trails off from behind Patroclus, looking for the right words. He turns to face her, but stands alert for the next shouted command, whoever it be from. He watches her eyes track the countless Greek soldiers, then glance at the various colorful buildings, then scan the skyline as if searching for something.

“Yes,” Patroclus replies. “It is.”

“The Colosseum,” she says. Her eyes light up. Patroclus thinks she looks like a tourist. To be fair, she is quite acting like one. “It is near here?”

The Colosseum is not really close to them, Patroclus thinks. No, it is more in the center of the city. Still, he says, “Yes.”

“Maybe we–”

Kallinia is cut off by an order, and then Patroclus’ troop is assembling in a line, waiting to be counted off and given a duty. The align themselves alphabetically; from down the line Patroclus can see Kallinia squeeze herself between T. Paulos and L. Petras.

“As you can probably sense, tensions are rising,” Patroclus’ commanding officer says. He’s right, Patroclus can sense it, and he can tell that everyone else can too. The soldiers all stand a little straighter here, a little more purpose in their steps and a little more of a grimace on their faces. The anxiety is contagious; is spreads from one to the other, and Patroclus has already been infected. A feeling not new to him, he thinks. It is in situations like this that Patroclus realizes that he, as a medic, is always in danger; his job, though he loves it, has far more risks than benefits.

“In truth,” the commanding officer continues. “We are not quite sure when the next conflict is going to break out, all we know is that it will be soon. Many of you will be pushed out of your comfort zones. It will be dangerous; look out for one another.”

Patroclus glances down the solid line, to his right. Even from a distance he can see Kallinia blanch, even paler than she already naturally is.

“So, you will gather your things and bring them into your temporary housing. Privates, you know where to go. Sergeants and specialists, we’ve printed lists of your room assignments; they can be found at the union commons. I expect to see you back in this very spot at 7:00 sharp tomorrow. Unless there is a need for you, in which you know what to do, you are all dismissed for the rest of the day.”

Immediately after being dismissed, Patroclus finds Kallinia right on his heels.

“What does he mean, ‘You know what to do’? I don’t know what to do!” She walks briskly beside Patroclus, following him to the union, her short legs struggling slightly to keep up with his long ones.

“It’s fine,” Patroclus says, slowing down slightly. He shrugs his shoulder; the weight of his duffel bag is starting to hurt. “If a conflict breaks out, we all gather back here with our kits, take attendance, and go. At least we’re dismissed today.”

Kallinia nods at that. “So, the Colosseum–”

“Yes,” Patroclus says, and holds the door open for Kallinia when they reach the doors of the union. “We can go today, although, I lied, it is not really close to here.”

“I don’t even care,” says Kallinia, walking nonchalantly through the open door. “I just have wanted to see it for so long.”

Patroclus snorts. “You are like a tourist.”

They walk to the list of rooming assignments, where Patroclus sees that he is in room 278 in Dormitory B, and then they walk to his room.

It’s not unlike his room back at Vari, he realizes. The accommodations are more or less the same, if not slightly smaller, which isn’t a problem, as Patroclus doesn’t require a lot of space in the first place.

“You are lucky you get your own room,” Kallinia says, and she sets her own duffel down in Patroclus’ open doorway. Her massive hair keeps getting into her face, even with her cap; Patroclus watches with amusement as she continuously pushes it out of her face. He removes his cap and sets it on the small table, running a hand through his own thick hair.

“I have to stay in a room with two other girls,” she continues, a frown forming on her face. “I mean, I have a roommate back at Vari, but that is only one. And I don’t know either of them.” Her frown deepens.

“A trip to the Colosseum will cheer you up,” Patroclus replies, sympathizing. It was not so long ago that Patroclus, too, had to share a room. Horrifying, he knows. “But you have to get changed. It’s… provocative to go out in your fatigues.”

“Of course,” Kallinia nods. She picks her bag up out of the doorway, and starts to leave. “I will meet you in front of the union at–” she pauses, and checks her watch. “Eleven.”

As soon as the door shuts, Patroclus slumps down onto his couch, plopping his head into his hands. So little of the day has passed and already he wants for it to be over. And now he’s going to the Colosseum with a girl who’s more lost than a newborn puppy– no offense to Kallinia, of course.

Patroclus and Kallinia’s trip to the Roman Colosseum is, to Patroclus, having already been there on one of his previous trips, no more than fantastic and no less than ordinary. They walk all around the various levels and floors, splitting up at different parts and waving to each other from across the circle.

“They were so violent back then– I am glad things have changed,” Kallinia says at some point, when they are standing in the center of the floor of the arena. She spins around slowly, looking entranced, and looking quite fierce, curly hair free from its camouflage prison and fanning out around her head like a halo; a battle angel. In that moment, Patroclus compares her to a gladiator engaging his audience. Deadly.

 

After a few loaded hours of sightseeing, they sit outside of a gelato shop, and Patroclus notices that the roads are even busier than before. Not in a good way, though.

“The Roman forces are starting to stack up,” Patroclus says, leaning forward and resting his chin in his palms. “We should be heading back to the base soon.”

“Why?” Kallinia asks, sitting across the table from him. She turns around and faces the street, surveying the Roman soldiers that have started to accumulate by the hour. “We do not look suspicious, do we? I mean, not that we are undercover, but…”

“No,” Patroclus replies. “It’s not that. It’s just– normally, when so many soldiers start to congregate like that–” Patroclus pauses, watching over Kallinia’s shoulder as a buggy pulls up on the street and even more Roman soldiers tumble out. “It’s not a good thing.”

“Oh,” Kallinia replies, nodding, looking down, and Patroclus can tell he’s making her nervous.

“I’m sure it’s fine, though.” Patroclus looks at Kallinia reassuringly. Even so, he is lying to both her and himself, he knows it.

They leave the busy city center and head back to the base.

“Have fun with your roommates,” Patroclus says, jokingly, and Kallinia rolls her eyes.

“Oh, I will.” And with that, they are on their ways.

Later that night, Patroclus unloads his duffel bag and collapses into his new-yet-the-same twin-sized bed.

Unlike his room at Vari, this room has no television. Patroclus doesn’t mind too much– though he does like the background noise, he supposes now he has a lot of room to think.

So lies there and he thinks about the day, about the Colosseum, about what Kallinia said earlier.

_“They were so violent back then– I am glad things have changed.”_

Patroclus thinks about the gathering of soldiers in the city.

_She is wrong. Not much has changed at all._

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, i know this is really awkwardly written. The next chapter will be better.. i was kind of testing the waters so the next will be more stable. 
> 
> I had an idea that I loved and I turned it into this. Also, sorry, no Achilles in this chapter. He'll be in the next one, though!
> 
> Also, it should be known that everything I've written down about the Greek military is loosely interpreted, and based off of brief online research and info from my dad, who was in the US Navy, not the Greek Army.. in other words this is by no means accurate. 
> 
> I have this marked down for 6 chapters, though I'm not exactly sure how long it will be. Somewhere from 5 to 8 chapters, I think. Stick around!!
> 
> I'm a senior in high school right now and I'm about to go NYC with my school band for spring break (on March 25th) so I may or may not get a chapter in before then, but for now, just enjoy!!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always always appreciated. :)


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